


The Millennium Crew

by miss_grey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And we'll sit back, laughing about how we averted the apocalypse, about how we're heroes to the core."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Millennium Crew

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece of my original work, written a few years ago, but I thought my SPN readers might appreciate the vibe. Also, I just really liked it and wanted to share. Hope you enjoy!

I

            The sun goes down.  The city is quiet… mostly.  Bangs and the crackling of fires, the tinkle of breaking glass.  Raucous laughter, a scream… or was it the imagination?  The only light as the sun disappears is from the fires that still lick up the sides of buildings.  Fires in trashcans.  In the roads and down alleys.  It casts a red-gold glow over the dirty, decrepit buildings that still stand.  Giants past their time.  They are dead.  One or two windows are lit by candles, but there are no faces to see.  Do not look.  Do not try.  If you walk, you can hear your own footsteps… you know you are alone, but this only makes it worse.  The air is damp with misted rain; enough to make you curse, but not enough to put out the fires.  Windows broken out.  The smell of burning and trash.  This city is dead.  But how?

 

 

 

 

 

 

II

            Mary Sue reaches for a bottle, pulls it off the shelf, uncorks it, and swigs it down.  Passes it to the left.  Charlie, Kris, and Kel take their turns; kick their feet up on the lopsided table.  Muck on their heels from the dirty streets.  The smell of sewage and burning.  Charlie lights up a cigarette; it’s one of two left.  It doesn’t matter.  Charlie does not share the cigarette; booze is enough for what they’re going to do.  Kel starts laughing, and can’t stop: instead of stopping Kel, the rest join in.  Why not?  Mirth and hysteria have become one.  Charlie takes another drag in the same moment Kris starts loading bullets into the semi-automatic.  There are only three.  The barrel is not even half full.  Kris spins the barrel and sits back in the chair, takes a big gulp of the booze, lets it spill.  Like a game of hopeless Russian roulette.  Mary Sue sings a song for morale:

            _“Sing a song of sixpence,_

_A pocket full of rye._

_Four and twenty blackbirds,_

_Baked in a pie.”_

            No one listens to Mary Sue: all are occupied.  Charlie is smoking.  Kel is laughing.  Kris spins the barrel again and again, not minding where the bullets are.  All are drunk.  It is needed for what they are going to do. 

            Kris stands up, claps Charlie on the back: “Here’s to the heroes!”  The others chorus “Here’s to the heroes!”

            A sudden gust of wind blows the door open.  They can see nothing but the pregnant darkness outside.  Eyes narrow.  Kris raises the gun and keeps it trained at the door.  Picks up the bottle to swig, but it is empty.  The others do not move for a moment.  Kel abruptly stops laughing and flings the bottle out the door.  As it crashes against the cobbles outside they all suck in a breath, afraid to let it out.  Nothing happens.  All exhale.  Kris keeps the gun on the door. Mary Sue sighs, “We’re heroes to the core.”

            Charlie snubs the cigarette on the table and says “Remember when we averted the apocalypse?”  It is said with a straight face, in a normal tone, normal volume.  Kel gets hysterical again.  Mary Sue holds back a sob, and Kris says “Yeah, I remember.”

            Their faces are smudged with dirt and blood, their clothes worn and torn.  There is no way to tell how long they have been at this.  Charlie stands next to Kris, hands in pockets. There’s only one cigarette left.  Kris has not lowered the gun or looked away from the door.  Tears are pouring from Kel’s bloodshot eyes.  Mary Sue rocks back and forth and continues to hum.

            Charlie sighs, “It’s time to go save the world again, isn’t it?”  Kris nods infinitesimally, “It is.”

            Charlie glances at Mary Sue: “Close the door tight behind us.”  Mary Sue nods and Kel quiets down.  Kris does not look back at the others, only walks out the door into the night, the gun clutched tight.  Charlie nods briefly before following Kris.  Mary Sue shuts the door behind them.

            Two left the night before and did not come back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III

            There is a gunshot in the night; it punctures the night sharply.  Once, twice, thrice.  Silence consumes the city again.  The darkness trembles, but does not retreat.  Not yet.  There is a shout, quickly muffled.  Smoke rises from the city, and from the land around as far as the eye can see.  All is white and gray and black but for the occasional red-gold flicker.  There is movement in the city, but it is hard to pinpoint.  Noises are ricocheted and smothered.  All is illusion.  The pall of smoke is too heavy to penetrate with the naked eye.  There are no more gunshots that night.

 

 

 

 

IV

            There is a sharp rapping at the door.  Mary Sue opens it and ushers Charlie in.  Kris is not waiting.  Charlie slaps the gun down on the table, grabs the nearest bottle and chugs it.  The gun has smears of blood on the grip.  The others are silent.  Charlie’s ragged breathing is all there is.  And then, “I found more bullets.”  A bag is thunked onto the table next to the gun and the clinking shells disturb the strained silence.  Charlie shivers.  Sits down, head between hands.  Holds back the half-scream, half-sob waiting to erupt.  It does not.  More alcohol is needed.  Kel glances at Charlie, but not for long for fear of bad luck.  Mary Sue still stands near the door, hand on the knob.  When Charlie is in control, more alcohol is drained.  The room shifts slightly, and sleep awaits.  Charlie notes that there is one cigarette left.  The sun comes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are love! :)
> 
> Find me here: http://realhunterswearplaid.tumblr.com/


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